


At the Crux of Chaos and Control

by soupmoth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Autistic Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting to Know Each Other, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Low Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Transphobia, Royalty, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Enemies to Friends Again to Lovers, Trans Character, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, author is gay and trans it's fine, because what's a fantasy story without it, im blaming the commies, like there's magic involved but there aren't any dragons, or at least as close as a fantasy time can have to canon, theres two secondary characters i literally love more than every MC, when i say slow burn i mean slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmoth/pseuds/soupmoth
Summary: That feeling when you are just fucking around on discord and it turns into a full fic ;-;Anyways I update when I update and that just how it be in this world, welcome to ADHD. follow me @soupmoth on instagram to maybe see art of these idiots.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	1. Window Shopping Isn't A Long Distance Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [those bastards on red in space](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=those+bastards+on+red+in+space).



> That feeling when you are just fucking around on discord and it turns into a full fic ;-;  
> Anyways I update when I update and that just how it be in this world, welcome to ADHD. follow me @soupmoth on instagram to maybe see art of these idiots.

The sun always seemed to appear to the north-facing windows of the Latimer castle’s west tower at the least ideal of times. Never had the windows shone in the morning to alert Sol that he was supposed to be awake nearly an hour ago to prepare for some public appearance, nor late at night did they ever catch the last fleeting rays of sunlight to allow for him to finish his journal for the day without the risk of candle wax falling on the pages. Instead it was always mid-day, stubbornly spilling through the dark curtains, coaxing Sol to come look outside. As a young child, he would often give in to those temptations, sitting precariously on the windowsill, gazing among the villages outside of the castle grounds. Now, though, Sol knew that the only sense that those windows would ever enhance was longing.

It wasn’t longing for their lives. Sol didn’t think himself above anyone, but he wasn’t an idiot- he’d probably starve within a matter of weeks with no one to care for him. No, he was perfectly happy being at the rank he was, living the life that he lived, but what they had might change that. They had something not unlike freedom, but that word doesn't fit the experience he watched. Exploration, perhaps. Maybe a mix of the two.

There was no word to describe what it was that Sol wanted. No, instead it was better portrayed in the memory of his childhood, a time when he was still the family’s youngest child, still treated as valuable in a way that wasn’t currency for alliance. Sol had loved to climb a particular tree in the orchard at the edge of the castle grounds, one of the few areas that was open for those not in the Latimer family and staff. At least those who weren’t a threat. As a child he climbed up the tree with a girl from a middle class family- her family made many fine silks that were still in his closet- when she fell out.

What did it say about the seven-year-old that the first thing he noticed wasn’t her turned ankle, but her hair? Her thick waves had been caught on the branches of one of the rose bushes that traced the edge of the lot, and as he helped her to her feet, what must have been inches at parts tore away. He remembered his eldest sister- when she had been sparring as a girl, she had accidentally had a small portion of her hair cut. She was never allowed to spar again. Yet this girl simply shrugged, and next time Sol saw her she sported a new short haircut.

Nothing was permanent in the lives of those outside the Latimer castle grounds. Their positions, their homes, their roads and shops, their entire lives could change in a single moment, and they seemed to simply adapt. Yet to Sol, every single step that he took was all but scripted as he went about his day.

It was midmorning in early autumn, three or so fortnights until the equinox. Sol took a moment to look out over the nearby town, sitting in the small seat he had made in his window. As a teen his father had told him not to be so visible in his watching; “people might see you, child, and rumors of your… _strangeness_ …” the word was always hesitant, like there was another that the king wished to speak, “may spread. We can’t have that damaging our reputation.”

Those words had stung the first time. Not that Sol had been a stranger to caring for his family’s reputation- the eggshells he walked upon were finer than the silks in his closet- but the last sentence held a unique sort of contempt. It was the words that went unsaid.

We can’t have that damaging our reputation.

We can’t have _you_ damaging our reputation.

Groups of townsfolk seemed to be speaking with each other not too far from the docks, as merchants from out of the country showed off their exotic wares. He wondered if he could ask one of the castle staff to look around there, buy anything interesting. Something to ask someone, he supposed.

A gentle tap on the door made him jump, and he swore a soft gratitude to the structural soundness of the castle tower. “Yes?”

A familiar voice rang out, in a strange, performed manor. “Your highness? May I come in?”

“Joanna?” He paused, taking in her tone. “Anyone with you?”

“Just me, your highness.”

“Then drop the act and come in.”

His door opened and Joanna came in, her dress trailing behind her ever so slightly. She didn’t particularly like long dresses, finding them annoying, so the staff must have been behind on laundry. “No need to be a prick, Sol. I just didn’t want the servants knowing anything.”

“There’s nothing to know that they wouldn’t already.” The friendship between Sol and Joanna had always been especially close, even for a maid-in-waiting. Anyone but Joanna speaking to Sol the way she did would likely get jailed, even for the apathy that the royal family held for the third-youngest child. But Joanna was the daughter of a governess- insulting her was, in the royal children’s minds, worse than insulting the crown itself.

That, of course, didn’t mean much, as Sol would likely pay half of his own gold to see the crown be insulted.

“Maybe. Still, we need to at least pretend to be professional, or my mother will kill me.” She paused, seeming to think to herself. “Well, that or make me wear that one dress with the train.”

“You would rather she killed you.” Sol said, a slight laugh. He carefully turned into the room, closing the curtains behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Unfortunately, not something entertaining.” Of course not, not with that dress. “His Majesty requires your attendance to a meeting this afternoon.”

“I just turned 18 and he’s already marrying me off?” Sol smiled with the joke, but he knew that it was plausible. His eldest sister was 17 when she was betrothed, and the next eldest was already planning her wedding at her 18th birthday party.

“I’d have come in here with an escape plan if he was. No, I believe it’s some sort of trade alliance, you just have to stand there and look pretty.”

Sol cocked an eyebrow. “Have you become a sorceress when I wasn’t looking?”

Joanna laughed at that, and held out two dresses. “I said I’d try, not that I’d succeed. Which one?”

“Can I choose neither?”

“Unfortunately not, though I’m sure I could find you some new clothing amongst the merchants.”

“Blue, then. And they wouldn’t sell to you, they know damn well you aren’t buying for a husband. You’re no more marriable than I am.”

“Get dressed, Sol.” She rolled her eyes, and tossed the underthings. That was the thing Sol hated about royalty. The dresses, the hair, the need to look ‘proper’ even when you mean nothing to the lineage. It was like polishing armor- it proved how useless it was.

“You know, you’re almost attractive, in a strange, vampiric way.” She said, tying his hair into a plait behind his head.

“If I could, I’d burn this dress on a pyre.”

“If you behave I can attempt to convince your father to let us go to the docks.”

_That_ stopped him. The docks were like a hallowed ground to Sol’s wraith, and the times that he could go, he was so highly supervised he’d rather be home. But with Joanna- he thought back to the window, the people looking out at the water freely. He thought back to the trees, the rose bushes. “The burning can wait another day.”


	2. How Best To Be A Fly On The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring: excessive quotation of the art of war. get ready because quoting old literature is just a Cire Trait Babey
> 
> note: Cire's name is pronounced "sear"

“If you touch another orange, I’m putting your hands on the market table.”

Cire hung upside down from the bottom pole of the mast, for no particular reason other than the fact that he  _ could _ . “Hm, not a bad idea actually. I’m sure mage’s hands fetch a nice price. But do you think that Chaeris is the best place, given the fact that they’re begging us for a trade deal?”

Fisc, as Cire knew him, glared at the boy with a look that could kill. Unfortunately, Cire hated eye contact, so a good majority of those attacks didn’t work. Fisc barely opened his mouth before another voice interrupted him.

“I’d hush about those little powers of yours, boy, we don’t know how they treat people like you.” Cire dropped down from the mast, almost falling off his feet, as Whittaker Sykes approached him and Fisc. “All my men have told me is that they have a few healers in the castle, like any fucker with brains would. You’re a valuable asset to the company, but you’re replaceable. Don’t be stupid.”

“Yessir.” Cire said. He wasn’t one to obey authority of any kind, but Whittaker Sykes was not someone to take lightly. He wasn’t one for sentiments- he’d hold Cire under the water himself if Chaeris’s king ordered his death.

“In fact, I’d be quiet in general. Your unique attributes pass around here, but Chaeris is much more traditional. As I’ve told the rest of the men, we’re already at a cultural disadvantage.”

Cire frowned. “Sir, all due respect, if you didn’t want me to talk, what’s the purpose of bringing me?”

“Sittin’ and lookin’ pretty, probably.” Another sailor quipped.

“You know why I bring you. You can figure shit out that other people can’t. Just don’t be too obvious that you’re, well, you.”

Be someone else. That was easy enough.

“You’re coming with me to the meeting, got it? Get whatever you need to get information they wont give us.”

“What kind? Are we learning their strength as allies, or their weaknesses as enemies, ‘cause that changes who I’m talking to.”

“You aren’t  _ talking _ to anyone, the whole point-”

“Is subtlety. Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. But you wouldn’t believe how much servants hate being servants.”

Whittaker Sykes sighed. “If this whole thing fails because of your anarchism, I’m making your death painful.”

Cire smirked. “Make sure that, if it fails, it fails because of something else.” Watching the captain’s face, he quickly added, “I’m kidding. Trust me, I know how to talk to them. They won’t suspect a kid.”

With that he rushed into the ship’s deck, not wanting to test the waters any more. Cire had always been treated with a little more leeway- those who knew about him and his…  _ background _ pitied him, and those who didn’t feared that which could make a murderer pity. He had always been the ship’s baby, and while as a child he hated the treatment, the favoritism helped as he aged.

“You look like you just heard a cannon go off. What did you do?”

“I was  _ me _ , Rylan, what else would I do?”

Him and Rylan had a rocky relationship at best, but the ship didn’t need to know that. It was to their benefit to lie and say that the two mages were close allies, because the only thing that scared people more than mages was two of them. Still, Rylan was annoying, and from Cire that word meant a lot.

“I don’t know why the old man doesn’t just replace you.”

“I know too much and killing me is inconvenient.” He said, slipping on a shirt. It wasn’t formal by any means, but Cire wasn’t formal either, and no king would change that.

“If you’re joking, it’s not funny.”

“It’s just true. I’d fight back enough to make it not worth the trouble.” He shrugged. “We know how we feel about each other, better off to be honest about it.”

“Y’know most kids would get fucked up by this.”

Chey shrugged as he put on a coat, which he knew he’d regret- it was early autumn, and that bitch summer still had her head around the corner. What was the climate like in Chaeris? He was getting too used to the sandy shores of Stratserd, where sea-breeze kept everything cool; he’d need to leave more often. “Probably would.”

Rylan walked out with him, barely dressed at all. Lucky. He got to stay at the market, where he’d no doubt chat up the local women with goals leading to the local inns. That part didn’t bother Cire too much- he didn’t particularly care either way about the women of the area, and Rylan at an inn meant less of a chance they’d share a room in the palace. No, what he was worried about was Rylan taking all of the good shit at the market. He’d heard too much about Chaeris’s public market to not take full use of it, and if he had to sabotage the king’s dinner to get it he would do so in a heartbeat.

“Well, well, well, look how the little penny shines up.” A sailor- Neta- chirped out. “If I didn’t know you I’d think you might be a functional citizen.”

“Unfortunately you do know me though, as the bastard I am.”

“Enough, you two.” Whittaker Sykes walked up, dressed formally, making Cire feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite describe. So this was  _ serious _ , even more than he thought.

There were 5 in the party going to the castle, and as per usual no one paid Cire too much attention. Well, they did, but as more of an extension to the attention given to the rest of the group. Which was just the type of attention he liked, he decided- looked at as a part of something bigger, more important. A non-expecting power. That’s what he wanted. That, or just making people generally unsettled.

Well, a man could have both.

“Now Cire, what’s your job?”

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. I’m a fly on the wall.”

“Good.”

The castle loomed up ahead. It was… impressive. Cire hated the idea of a huge palette of land, especially when the townsfolk may not know their next meal, but damn if the place wasn’t pretty. The towers on the east and west extended far past the highest spires of the central building, and flowering vines crept up the sides. The pines and oaks that traced the sides of the courtyard were just begging to be climbed. So too, were the vines, but that would be a bit obvious of an entry method. More than anything else, this was a castle obsessed with appearance. Everything had to be pristine.


End file.
